I ran without looking back, without a second’s hesitation and without fear that my heart would beat its way out of my chest. I ran until I thought my lungs would burst from hyperventilation, and the bloody scene of Diana’s death faded into darkness. I ran until I was safely tucked away in the first darkened phone booth that I could find. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have someone see me covered in this much blood, especially blood that isn’t mine.

I have to stop a moment to breathe and shake away the tremors that course through my hand before yanking my breast pocket open to grab the card Diana gave me the first day we met. I didn’t say out loud but we both knew the day I received my calling was probably the happiest day of my life. I ignore the bloody prints on the white card as I flip it over to the back and dial the long ass number. International calls are a bitch in my opinion, but I promised.

The phone rang once, and I didn’t wait to hear the full greeting. “My name is Faith Lehane, there’s been an accident.” I can’t count the times I’ve made similar calls to 911 because my mom, in a drunken stupor passed out and hit her head on a sharp edge. “My Watcher, Diana Dormer was attacked.”

I gave the voice on the other end the address of our training house, and hung up. I only took a few seconds to myself before pushing the door of the phone booth open. I can’t be sure I wasn’t followed, so I slip into the shadows and take a different route back. I can’t stand the thought of leaving her alone, and dead. It didn’t seem right somehow. She was my Watcher, and I can’t help but feel a sense loyalty to her, if only because she’d shown loyalty to me.

I can’t count the number times I showed up in the middle of the night. She was there the night my mom died. I said it didn’t bother me, but it did. She didn’t push or try to force me to talk to her; instead, she was the perfection of patience and only offered familiarity and tea.

My footsteps slowed as I rounded the corner into the training room entrance, and found he wasn’t gone. Kakistos, a vampire so old and ugly that even his hands were cloven. All of my fear seemed to wash away in a wave of anger as I watched him hold her lifeless body to his with one arm as his free hand felt caressed her lifeless body. A knot began to form in my stomach, and I refused to watch him violate her any further.

It was in that moment everything slowed down, and I knew I was going to win, even if I died his vampire ass would be dust.

Balling my hands into fists, my legs broke out into a full on sprint and I leapt, drawing my left leg under me as I strike with my right foot. Just as my foot was about to make contact with the back of his head, he dropped her and turned, throwing his left arm up, knocking me down onto the ground as he laughed.

I didn’t stay down. Keeping low to the ground, I spin and kick his legs out from under him. He’s bigger, but I’m faster. I roll away before he even lands, and move into my fighting stance. It wasn’t long before he was back up and charging after me. Maybe I was wrong about being faster.

He grabs me by the arm as I move to hit him with a left hook and flings me into the wooden pole across room. The sound of the pole giving way under impact barely registered as I hit a near by wall. Standing again, I grab the large pole as if it weighed nothing. At that moment it didn’t. I charge after him, using the blunt end of pole to knock him upside the head.

My heart gives a small leap of victory when the large piece of wood makes contact, and then a wave of relieve washes through me as I watch myself slide the sharp, broken end of the pole through his chest. For that moment, it was like I left my body and could see it all happening from a different angle. The moment he turned to dust, I was back in my body and I slowly crawled my way over to Diana. I know it was stupid, but I felt for a pulse that I knew wouldn’t be there.

I don’t know how many hours pass before I hear the sounds of car doors closing outside the building. Five, maybe six, but I don’t move. I sit on the cold concrete floor with her body in my arms--stroking her hair and rocking back forth. I don’t let go until they come in and separate us. They’re talking to me but my brain barely registers the words. I know I need to say something when I feel a hand on my face, turning my head. I finally tear my eyes away from Diana when they cover her body and look into a pair of brown eyes.

Music is just another form of art. A form of art that is used to provoke feeling. For me though it wasn’t a matter of provoking a feeling. It was matter of covering up the feelings that was a there; a release of endorphins as the bass of the music forced it’s way through my body. The beat was always up tempo, something that could make my body move.

It was the only way I felt I could express myself. I’d flirt my way into bars or clubs in downtown Boston which wasn’t hard. Just a whisper in the bouncer’s ear about how I left my I.D at home, and my body pressed tight against theirs. It didn’t just work with male bouncers either, the female bouncers more often than not responded in favor to my plea.

It was all down hill from there. A shot or two later, I was on the floor; hot, sweaty and pressed in the circle of even more heat and sweat fueled by more testosterone than most girls could ever imagine having.

There was a time when I wasn’t like this though. There was a time when my tastes in music were simpler. A country song or two, maybe I’d throw in a bit of classic rock. My grandmother really liked the old standards. She said it reminded her of a time when chivalry wasn’t dead. I just smiled and nodded as I got older. Men would be men. They only wanted one thing and it wasn’t a just a good conversation and a warm meal.

For the most part I keep all memories of my mom and my grandmother pushed as far back as I could, but it was harder to do when I was in the Women’s Correctional Facility in Stockton, California. They don’t allow anything over a PG13 rating on the television at anytime, and music had to be centered or known to not have anything ‘graphic’.

It was the first time I had heard an old standard in such a long time. It wasn’t the original though. Not that it mattered it still brought back faint memories; memories before I realized how bad things really were at home.

“Now there’s something I never imagined.” Lorne’s voice said cutting through the air.

I sat straight up in my chair as my hand flew to remote control that sat on my desk in the office I occupied at Wolfram and Hart, and I quickly fumbled to turn off the stereo. “Don’t you know how to knock?” I said, sneering at the demon. “I swear if you tell anyone I was…”

“Now keep your skirt on princess.” Lorne said, cutting me off.

“Don’t call me that.” I said, standing and moving to the front of my desk

“What? You’d rather me call you prince?”

“I don’t have the shining armor or the white horse.”

“Where’d you learn how to sing?”

I pick up a letter opener and shrug. I knew Lorne was harmless and if I asked him too he’d keep quiet, but it was still not something I shared openly. “My grandma was the choir director at the church she use to go to. During the summers when my mom couldn’t keep me at home I…I spent my days there.”

“Well hats off to granny.” Lorne smiled.

For the briefest moment I smiled too, but just as soon as it was there it was gone again. The letter opener was held tightly in one hand. I wouldn't use it on him but I know he knows my past. Angel filled him probably. “If you tell anyone…”

“I won’t tell anyone, but um…between you and me? You’re not going to get what you’re looking for staying locked in this office. Go out and have fun while you still can.”

Fun? Yeah right. How much fun can a Slayer have working freelance for an evil law firm when we‘re suppose to be the good guys?

I didn't wait until Lorne left. I was done with the conversation, and I turned back on the stereo; changing the disc with a push of a button. Moments later the office was filled with an upbeat tempo--something to get my blood pumping as I walked over to my weapons case and decide on a means of tactics for tonight.